Caring for Ivar
by PeculiarLeah
Summary: How Ivar deals with an injury. Some general brotherly sweetness and Ivar growling. Will possibly be expanded into a long fic
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Their first meal with Lagertha after Ivar came home with the horrid news from England was tense, to say the least. Ivar's eyes shot blue fire at her across the table and he barely took a bite of food. Ubbe kept a close eye on his brother throughout the meal, half expecting him to burst into a rage or throw his knife into Lagertha's neck without warning. But he didn't, long before the meal was complete, after a barbed statement from Sigurd, Ivar slipped from his chair, announcing as he did "do excuse me brothers, I'm going to bed."

Ubbe nodded to him, noticing how pale he was as the fire light hit his face. He gave his brother a concerned look, but Ivar only glared back at him and began to crawl away. Several minutes later Ubbe had finished his own rabbit stew and excused himself, bowing his head respectfully to his brothers as he wiped his face and beard and turned to leave the hall.

As he was walking down the corridor towards his bed chamber, Ubbe heard a curse, then a hard thud. It was Ivar, he was sure of it. Ubbe took a torch from the wall and went to search for his brother. When he finally found him, Ivar was lying on his stomach, his nose was bleeding, and there was a smell as though he may have vomited. He was letting out low groans, and his eyes were screwed shut. He was clearly unable to move. It looked as though he had collapsed after failing to clear a low step which he had probably crawled over every other day of his life.

"Ivar... What the hell happened?" Ivar grunted, trying to push himself up, a look of feverish determination in his eyes. Ubbe put his hand on his brother's back, just between his shoulder blades.

"Don't try to move Ivar, you could have broken something. You'll only hurt yourself further. Can you tell me what happened? Where does it hurt." Slowly, he helped his brother turn over, careful not to jostle him too much. As he turned him he noticed his brother's skin was hot to the touch, and he had indeed vomited up what little supper he had eaten. Ivar just shook his head, mumbling something almost incoherent.

"Not sure, feels...strange...fuzzy. Hurts, Ubbe, everything hurts." Ubbe lifted his brother over his shoulder, Ivar being too weak to protest, and stated firmly.

"It's alright, don't try and talk just yet. Let's get you cleaned up and in bed. Then we'll try and figure out what's wrong." Ivar's body relaxed against his brother, allowing him to carry him to his room.

Once there, Ubbe placed Ivar on the small leather cot which Ivar used for dressing and went to get some water to clean the blood and bile from his brother's face.

Ivar lay silently, as chills and stabs of pain racked his body. Ubbe returned presently and cleaned his brother the best he could while the younger man lay motionless. As he undressed his brother, in order to change him into a nightshirt, he examined his body for signs of disease or injury. When he began to work away the stiff leather braces and straps which kept his brother's legs straight he noticed a change in his brothers soft pitiful noises. His breath caught, as though breathing through pain. As he lifted Ivar's lower body to remove his heavy trousers he could immediately see and smell the problem. His nose was bombarded by the smell of rotting flesh. He lifted his brother's hip to find a coin sized sore eating its way towards the bony protuberance on his ass. Ubbe let out a low curse. This had happened before, many times in fact. But not since Ivar was quite small. Harbard had discovered that allowing Ivar to move about freely and having him sleep on a bed of sheepskin allowed these sores to stop appearing. As he rolled the trousers down he noticed that Ivar's right calf was swollen and hot, a sign he had been taught at a young age meant his brother's brittle bones had been broken.

"Oh Ivar," Ubbe sighed. "This is a mess, you must have been crawling around like this for days." Ivar seemed to have come around a little, and nodded.

"I noticed a change in the pain a few days before I left England." Ubbe looked quizzically at his brother.

"A change? Ivar you have to have been in agony!" Ivar sighed, he hadn't wanted to ever tell his brother this, as it might allow him to figure out what had happened between him and Margrethe, but he clearly didn't have much choice.

"Do you remember three years ago, when I hurt my back?" Ubbe nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. Ivar had fallen down a hill while playing, Ubbe had found him lying unconscious at the bottom and had carried him home. At first it seemed he might die of his injuries, but eventually he began to recover his strength. His brother had lay in bed for several months, hardly able to move for the pain. But he had regained his strength, even surpassed it. Ivar continued, the words spilling out like long held back tears.

"Ever since that day, my legs have felt...strange. Only they don't _feel_ much of anything. I can't feel when they are hot or cold, and I have to press very hard to feel anything in my legs, and there are places where even if I press very hard I feel nothing. And there is strange pain, a stabbing feeling that starts in my back, where I was hurt, and goes up and down my legs. But when they are actually hurt, I can feel very little. I didn't feel the sore at all, although I was worried it would happen because Ecbert's men had me sleeping on the floor with only a rug, and I had to sit in a hard chair all day. I felt my leg, it knocked hard against the wreckage of the boat during the storm, but I didn't think it was bad enough to be a break. I only realized how bad it was when I got back and was able to wash and change. By then the sore was already infected and my leg was so swollen I could hardly take off my boot." Ivar had exhausted himself with his speech, and lay back staring silently at the ceiling. Ubbe tried to control the pity he felt, knowing how much his brother hated it when people pitied him. He couldn't believe he hadn't known after three years, and couldn't understand why Ivar had never mentioned his diminished sensation. Although, he thought, Ivar never really spoke about his legs, even when he was clearly struggling or in pain. He would snidely call himself a useless cripple, but he would never admit to pain or weakness.

Ubbe nodded slowly, "I see... well we should get you into bed, then I'm going to go for the healer." Ivar blinked his eyes slowly, sighing softly, and nodding.

"Alright brother."

Ubbe lifted his brother gently, moving Ivar to his bed and tucking him amongst the furs.

"Try and rest while I get the healer." Ivar nodded to his brother and rubbed his face with his hands before closing his eyes and drifting into a feverish doze.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN~ As soon as we discovered Ivar was impotent I came up with this injury scenario. Someone with brittle bone (type 1 osteogenesis imperfecta incidentally also gave him those striking blue whites of his eyes) would be very susceptible to a spinal injury when living in such a dangerous culture. So I came up with a scenario which where Ivar sustained an injury to his spine which caused some nerve damage which caused him to have some trouble feeling his legs, although he was already unable to move them. This won't completely rule out Ivar from future romance wink wink_.

Once Ivar had drifted off to sleep, Ubbe left his brother's small chamber and went to find the village healer, an elderly man named Afi who worked with his daughter Ilse. It was late, and the old healer was clearly readying himself for bed when Ubbe knocked on the door of his hut.

Once Ubbe had explained his situation, the old healer grunted, calling for his daughter to gather their supplies and get a move on. A son of Ragnar Lothbrok was close to death. He quickly dressed, and within five minutes the group was back at the great hall where Hvitserk and Sigurd were still sitting and talking.

The two brothers looked up at their eldest brothers questioningly.

"Ubbe, what's going on, why have you brought the healer?" asked Hvitserk.

"Ivar," answered Ubbe, " he was injured with father in England. He's been hiding it but now he has an infection." Sigurd let out a grunt which was not entirely unlike a laugh and both Hvitserk and Ubbe looked daggers at him.

"Alright, sorry," muttered Sigurd. "Is he going to be alright."

"I don't know Sigurd, that's why I've brought the healer," replied Ubbe through clenched teeth, before leading Afi and his daughter to Ivar's chamber.

When they arrived, Ivar was still sleeping, but Ubbe shook him awake. There was a look of angry exhaustion on his brother's face.

"Damnit Ubbe, why did you wake me?"

"I'm sorry Ivar, but I had to bring the healer." Ivar groaned and closed his eyes.

"Couldn't it wait for morning? I'm tired." Ubbe shook his head and was about to speak when the healer's daughter Ilse, an old playmate of Ivar's, spoke up.

"I don't think so Ivar. You are ill, and badly wounded, if we leave it, it will only get worse. We just need to dress your wounds and give you something for the fever. We'll let you sleep then, I promise." Ivar nodded silently.

"Fine, get on with it then."

The old healer came up and lifted the blankets and night shift in order to examine the sore on Ivar's hip, he seemed unperturbed by the smell, or by the sight of the young man's crippled legs. He lifted Ivar's hip, turning him onto his side so as to have full access to the wound. He gently washed it with clean water and spirits. He then filled the sore with a poultice of honey and sweet herbs and bound the wound in soft cloth.

"Ilse, go brew some nettle and yarrow root tea, and make it strong." Ilse turned immediately to go to the kitchen.

"Wait a minute girl, bring me that splint first." She nodded, bringing a box to her father and curtsying before taking her leave.

The old man worked quickly, slathering Ivar's calf with honey and oil then wrapping it tightly with bandages which he then covered in a mixture of sap and oil to set the bandages around the limb.

"Any pain son?" Afi asked somewhat less gruffly than his normal demeanour allowed.

"Yes, but not from the splint, that feels fine." Replied Ivar quietly.

"Good, do you want anything for the pain?" Ivar shook his head.

"No, I just want to sleep." Afi nodded.

"Alright, stay awake until you've had your tea. We need to bring your fever down, then you can sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll send Ilse to stay with you and I'll come by each afternoon until you are well."

Ivar grunted, burrowing deeper into his cushions. Ilse came in presently, and Ivar drank the bitter tea. When he had finished, the healer and his daughter left and soon Ivar was again asleep. Ubbe moved in a bedroll and soon was asleep as well.

Ubbe woke several hours later to loud moans. He jumped up, lighting a lantern and going to his brother's bedside. The boy was delirious, writhing in pain. He had vomited again, and a stain on the bed suggested he had pissed himself. His skin was flushed and burning hot, his deep blue eyes were distant and glassy. Fear blossomed in Ubbe's chest as he ran his hand over his brother's burning forehead, it was hotter than the previous evening. Much hotter. He clasped his brother's hand in his own.

"Ivar! Ivar! Can you hear me?" Ivar didn't respond, he only continued moaning, tossing and turning in his bed as much as his crippled body would allow. Ubbe heard the door open and Hvitserk's voice called his name. His brother must also have been awakened by Ivar's groans. Ubbe smiled tiredly at his brother.

"Thank the gods you're here. He's gotten worse, I don't know what's going on, he's become completely delirious." Hvitserk nodded, fear in his eyes.

"I'll get one of the slaves to draw a cold bath, I've heard it helps with a fever." Ubbe nodded, and soon Hvitserk returned with Margarethe, carrying a large tub filled with water. Ubbe was certainly glad Ivar wasn't awake enough to mind, he would have bit their heads off. Margarethe left immediately, and Hvitserk and Ubbe lifted Ivar from his bed and placed him in the cool water. Ivar groaned slightly, his glassy blue eyes blinking slowly. He began to slip under the water, unable to keep himself upright and Ubbe clasped his hands around his chest to hold him up.

"Will you change his bedding Hvitserk?" Hvitserk nodded,

"If this doesn't work, we'll have to go back to Afi, and I'm not sure how much more he can do." Hvitserk nodded again, replying softly.

"I know."

It took nearly an hour for Ivar to begin to quiet. When he was calm and sitting peacefully, Ubbe felt his forehead. It was still warm, but not burning hot as it had been before. Ivar's eyes began to flutter and his chapped lips parted.

"What happened Ubbe?" Ubbe stroked his brother's hair back from his sweaty forehead.

"Your fever spiked, you've been delirious." Ivar nodded, his eyes closing slightly, he was falling asleep again but murmured to Ubbe before he was fully asleep, softly squeezing his brother's hand as he spoke.

"I saw father." Ubbe lifted the younger man from the bath and changed him into a dry night shift before settling him back into bed.

By then, Ubbe too was exhausted, he slept deeply for the rest of the night, and he too dreamt of their father. He dreamt of him as he was when he was young, lifting Ubbe in his arms and spinning his eldest child around in circles until the boy laughed uncontrollably.

Ivar was still sleeping quietly when Ubbe woke the next morning. His forehead was still unnaturally hot, and he was deathly pale. He was barely conscious most of the day, and was unable to keep anything down, even clear broth so by the time Ilse came by in the afternoon to change his bandages she was extremely worried. At least he seemed to come around slightly as she changed the poultice and bandages on his hip.

"Ubbe, he hasn't drunk anything in almost a day, and he hasn't pissed in quite some time. I'm starting to worry he's dehydrated. His fever is still high, he needs fluids if he is going to have any chance of recovery. He's come around enough for now that I'm sure he'll bite my head off if I try to help him. Tell him if he can't do it I will have no choice but to force water down his throat whether or not he keeps it down." Ilse handed Ubbe a pot and gave him a look which told him not to argue with the young healer.

"Go and get him to use it. And make him drink something."

Ubbe awkwardly entered Ivar's chamber carrying the pot and a skin filled with water.

"You haven't pissed since the other night when you were delirious. Do you think you can try?" Ivar groaned, his eyes closed and his lip curling in disgust and embarrassment.

"Fine, just ring the bell when you need to go. You'd better drink something though or Ilse will be in here pouring it down your gullet." Ivar sat in silence for a moment, he was trying to feel whether or not his bladder was full. Eventually he decided it was. He had never told anyone that this too had become somewhat difficult for him since his back injury. He had to focus very hard to go, and to tell when he needed to.

"Alright, I'll try." Ubbe nodded.

"Good" he looked embarrassed. "Do you... umm... need any help?" When Ivar shook his head Ubbe sighed with relief.

"I just need you to help turn me onto my side, and bring me the pot." Ubbe nodded, saddened to realize that the infection had weakened his brother this much. Normally Ivar could do almost everything himself, he could certainly turn in bed when he liked.

When Ivar was done, Ubbe helped him turn onto his back again and repositioned the furs under him. He lifted the skin to Ivar's lips and the young man obediently drank.

"Do you want me to sit with you for a while?" Ubbe asked, unsure if Ivar would be quite so accommodating to his care during this period of comparative wakefulness.

"I wouldn't mind." Ivar said, beckoning Ubbe forward. Ubbe pulled up a chair and sat beside his brother, but suddenly he couldn't really think of anything to say. He watched as Ivar shifted uncomfortably in bed, trying to rub his back.

"Are you in pain, Ivar?" Ivar rolled his eyes and grunted.

"I'm always in pain, brother, it's nothing I can't handle."

"You shouldn't have to handle it Ivar, at least not alone. I thought Harbard was able to take away your pain." Ivar nodded,

"He was able to take away much of it, at least enough that I could crawl. The pain never went away, it is only now something I can handle, it is a level of pain I can live with. Besides, mother always helped me with the treatments so now..."

"You shouldn't have to live with such pain." Ivar gave Ubbe a look as though he were quite an idiot.

"I shouldn't have to deal with most of what I do. I _should_ be able to feel when I break a bone. I _should_ be able to walk on my own two feet instead of crawling about like a worm. I _should..._ " Then he cut himself off waving his hand.

"Nevermind, you don't need to hear about that." Ubbe patted his brother's knee lovingly, but Ivar just looked away from him, self loathing etched upon every inch of his face.

"I do, I want to hear, you never talk about it. The only time I've ever heard you speak about it was the other night and even then you were half delirious. You think it is a weakness, but if you never tell anyone, I fear you will go mad, or explode."

"Perhaps someday I'll tell you everything. Half the time it's just because nobody asks. Even you have never asked. And when people do ask, it is with scorn, or worse, pity. Even with you, it's just pity." He spat out the last word as though it were poison.

"There is a difference between pity and care, Ivar. I won't lie and say I have never pitied you, but I will learn not to. And in the meantime, I will care for you. You are my brother."

Ivar turned away as much as he could in his weakened state.

"I don't want your care. If the gods are so intent on my death then let them have me." Had his brother been healthy, Ubbe just might have hit him. Instead he grabbed Ivar by the shoulder and turned his brother toward him.

"And what good would that do, brother? You speak of pity, yet you refuse to fight this. Three days ago you were intent on killing Lagertha. On revenge of our mother and our father. Where is my mad brother who would fight the world to get what he wants? You find him and you fight this! That is an order, brother." Ivar sighed, but there was a glimmer of life in his eyes. He squeezed Ubbe's hand in agreement almost imperceptibly.

"I'm going to sleep, brother, wake me when Ilse comes back with her potions." Ubbe gave a curt nod, patting his brother's knee.

"Alright, you rest. I'll be back soon."


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next day, Ivar's condition had continued to worsen, he was coughing and his breathing was ragged. He still raged with fever, and though I continued to reapply the poultice to his wound and giving him medicine for the fever, nothing seemed to help. His days were long and fretful, his nights punctuated by bouts of fever induced delirium. His elder brother Ubbe was frantic and had barely slept. By the evening of the fourth day of Ivar's fever, I had to practically force him to his bed so that I wouldn't have two patients to care for.

Being alone with Ivar was... different. Despite his illness, he was strikingly handsome, and when he slept, with his face relaxed and his eyes closed, without the lines of rage which usually marred his face, he could even be called beautiful. He didn't wake often so caring for him was easy enough, as awful as it sounds, I don't revel the idea of nursing him once he has his wits about him. There may be no man in the world more stubborn, more cruel, or with a sharper tongue, than Ivar the Boneless and I take no pleasure at the idea of all that rage being turned in my direction. It was almost pleasant though, to sit there by his side late into the night, sponging his forehead and murmuring lullabies and soft encouraging words into his ear when he woke in pain. When his fever spiked in the night and he became delirious, I often had to hold him down bodily, my small frame fighting his muscled arms to stop him from hurting himself or throwing himself from his bed.

Ivar's fever did not break for three whole weeks. During that time Ubbe and I cared for his every need, assisted and overseen by my father. He awakened slowly one morning to my relief. I was mixing a poultice when I heard his weak, scratchy voice,

"Water" I turned, seeing his frightfully pale face looking up at me. His eyes were oddly bright. There were two things this could mean, either the fever had broken, or he was nearing death. With his complexion as it was, it could be either. I turned, taking up a leather flask.

"Drink" he obliged, thirstily. As he was drinking I cupped his cheek, then his forehead, they were cool. Thank the gods. I did not relish the thought of a prince dying under my watch. He coughed weakly and I removed the flask.

"Better not have too much too quick." He nodded, unable to speak, I helped him lean back slowly into his cushions and I began to remove his blankets to be cleaned. The body often sweats a horrible cold sweat as a fever breaks, and it is quite important to remove the damp bedding before it causes a chill. Ivar's hand twitched slightly, trying to grab her arm.

"What are you doing woman?!" Ilse sighed, the man was incorrigible.

"I'm just trying to help Ivar, it's cold and your blankets are sweaty, I don't need you getting chilled." He stopped fighting, simply lying still and letting her work the furs out from under him.

"How long has it been?" Ivar asked as Ilse finished with his bedding.

"You've been ill nearly a full moon." Replied Ilse softly, now that he was awake, she had begun to fear him, remembering the rumors of his cruelty, the child he had killed when he was no more than a wee lad himself. But his response left her questioning the truth of the rumors.

"You've been with me the whole time?" Ilse nodded, pushing aside her deep auburn hair and placing the jug of water within Ivar's reach.

"Thank you Ilse, I shall not forget this kindness." She gave a soft smile, nodding, accepting his kindness but not drawing attention to it.

"I ought to go find your brothers, they'll want to know you're improving." Ivar's hand shot out, clasping her's, it was so strange, his deep blue eyes, normally so icy, now looked pleading.

"I remember, you never left me, you were..." His voice trailed, he was still confused, exhausted.

"I'll go find Ubbe, I'll be right back, I promise." She squeezed his hand, and even risked brushing his still sweat laden hair away from his brow. Ivar nodded, but as she turned away he called her back.

"Wait Ilse, don't, don't let Sigurd come in, not when I'm like this." Ilse smirked slightly, so the brothers weren't the united front they showed the village.

"Of course sir. I'll be right back."

Ubbe stood, with his face lined worry he looked awfully like his father.

"How is he?" Ilse gave a small smile and he sighed with relief.

"His fever broke, he'll recover, it may take time but he will recover. He was very lucky Ubbe."


End file.
